


Concealer:To Place Out Of Sight

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, No Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-15
Updated: 2005-06-15
Packaged: 2018-12-27 11:29:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12080166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Two weeks in a house near the beach. Justin believes he can work miracles. Song titles are not mine, they are the artists'.





	Concealer:To Place Out Of Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

It was like they were the Swiss Family Robinson.

Except, well, there was only the two of them.

And they were guys. Who slept with each other.  
So began the first part of Justin's three-part dream. In this half, they lived on bananas and water, never slept until it was absolutely necessary and spent their days on a solitary tree branch, albeit a large one, talking and laughing. Justin figured it must've been around three when he dreamed the second part, because it lasted until Brian woke him up the next morning. This was where things became...eerie.  
He dreamed up a complete alternate reality for himself and Brian, one which included a marvelous, grandiose house somewhere on the water and a spectacular view of ocean life: beach, sun, clouds. He saw Dream Brian and Dream Justin talk, conversations usually taking place on an immaculate white wicker couch, hands animated, eyes lit up, ingesting the words that were spoken by either of them, but he couldn't quite make out what they were saying. It was as if he was a third invisible party, one who could see but not hear. All he knew was that this person who looked like him was happy. Ecstatic. Simply speaking to Brian, and having this Brian answer him back was more than he could ever ask for. In the dream. It ended in a haze of swirls, the last thing Justin remembered was his Idea, the one that he was going to bring up to Brian today. 

"Justin. Justin!"

Brian nudged Justin's hip slightly with his hand and waited for him to open his eyes. 

"Why aren't you at work?"  
He was raspy, harsh to the ear. It sounded as if he hadn't drank a drop of water in his life.

"It's Sunday, twat. The day the Man Upstairs gave us mere mortals the chance to reflect on why His presence in our lives is so important. But, instead of going to church I'd rather pay a visit to Justin's holy shrine instead."

Eyebrows raised lasciviously, tounge slowly seeping out behind perfect red lips. A serpent, awaiting it's undeniable kill. Justin sighed as Brian's hand made its way up his bare chest.

"Stop, Brian. I just woke up."  
Brian's hand continued to travel until it reached Justin's cheek. 

"It's about time. I've been waiting since two."

Justin tucked Brian's hand that was previously on his cheek inside his own for a moment, staring into his eyes, before he sat up. Noticing that Brian was dressed in his Sunday casual, Justin wrapped the silk sheet around him, wondering what exactly to say.

"So no 'Good Morning, Justin?' Just, 'Turn over'?''  
Brian wished he was dead.  
"What the fuck crawled up your ass this morning?"

He was a teapot, short and hung. He felt as if steam would escape from his ears.

Always about the ass. Fucking the ass, eating the ass. It was giving Justin a pain in the ass.

"Can you give me a fucking minute to wipe the crust out of my eyes before you pounce on me?"

Brian said nothing. He looked at the floor, out the window. Justin went to him, to try to appease him, but not back down. Brian wouldn't look him in the eye. His new defense mechanism. Add it to the list.

"I'm sorry, Brian. It's just-do you see where I'm coming from?"  
Brian faced him. Short and terse,

"No."

That's the exact moment that this turned into the Post-Ethan conversation. Two years later, and here they were, in the same exact place. Justin wanted something more, Brian wanted Justin to be happy.

"I don't know if we'll ever be on the same page."  
Justin wanted to add "But I love you" but he didn't, it sat on his tounge, so he swallowed the words down his throat until they sat in his stomach, making him feel queasy and on the verge of puking. If he stopped talking, the routine would be as follows: See Brian sad. See Brian pick up Jack Daniels. See Brian leave Justin and come home the next morning. See makeup sex. See:Same as everything else. Justin wished Brian wouldn't look at him like that. His eyes were haunted, empty and evoking the stories of Edgar Allen Poe. Justin realized that Brian was an Edgar Allen Poe story: people never suspected who he really was until the big climax, until the others see him for who he really is, except Brian, in the end, was one of the good guys.

"You don't have to look at me. You don't have to respond. But you do have to listen. Give me ten minutes, and then you can get shit-faced and fuck eight guys, but I need you to hear what I have to say."

Justin embraced the sheet that sat upon his shoulders as a second skin, sitting on a chair across from Brian yet remaining close enough so he could look at him. Brian sat back against the wall, legs tucked underneath one another, staring at his lover. The silent go-ahead. Justin purged his fear and went, fists flying, headfirst into the wall that was Brian's subconscious.

"I had this really fucked-up dream, last night actually. It was you and me, but we were living, I guess in this fantastic dreamhouse, adjacent to this glorious beach. The thing that struck me was we were euphoric with each other. We were fucking communicating, and it wasn't with grunts and slews of obscenities, it was you and me. I think if we-plan on-continuing as we are now, we need to settle some things."

"What do you mean?"  
He barely heard it. Brian stared at Justin's hands sitting in his lap, one on either thigh.

"I think we should go to a beachouse for two weeks. If, at the end, we can't figure things out, then we decide on a new arrangement. I'm not asking for monogamy. I'm asking for you and me for two weeks. Talking, fucking, swimming, whatever. But the fucking remains at a minimum, and we need to talk about Ethan, and us, and whateverthefuck else. You're gonna get mad I'm finishing your thoughts, but you're thinking I've gone fucking insane. Maybe you're right. But I need this. And you will never admit you do, but you do too. If you trust me, then you'll come."

Justin got up, turned the shower on, shut the bathroom door and smelled the strawberry scent in his hair. Closed his eyes and hoped when he got out, Brian was still there.

He stepped out of the shower and saw a bag on their bed, followed by Brian placing stuff into it. He wondered what drove Brian to listen to him. If Brian wanted to go, then he went. Justin approached him from behind.

"You're coming with me."  
He smiled into the spine of Brian's shirt-clad back.

"I don't know the fuck why."

Brian turned and kissed Justin. 

Justin began helping Brian pack.


End file.
